Page 35 of Taming Raptor

I kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Squirrel.”

I let myself in my room and as I leaned against the closed door, I cried into my hands.

“What a fucking shit show,” I muttered as I dressed to go out on stage. After Honey, who was supposed to be the third dancer of the night, didn’t show up, I had to pull something out of my ass. Again.

“I can move my set up and go out now, to buy you a little time,” Willow offered.

“It’s fine, hon.” I quickly dusted some body glitter over the swell of my tits, then jerked the tiny half shirt on. Thanks to all the feelings I’d been eating lately, the buttons practically screamed. “Christ.”

“Girl, you know you look hot,” Willow kindly offered. The girl was too damn sweet for her own good, and she had no business dancing, but she was amazing at it. She usually waitressed, but filled in as needed on the stage. Tonight was one of those nights.

“I look fucking fat, but thanks for the words of encouragement.” I kissed her cheek and rushed out to the stage. Twix came off stage right as I got there. Sweat glistened on her skin and she shot me an encouraging smile. I had time to shove my robe in Solomon’s hand before I burst through the opening in the curtains.

The intro of “Schoolgirls” by Straight Wicked started and the stage lights came on. This was an old favorite of mine and thankfully the routine was easy enough that I could do it without rehearsing.

About halfway through my performance, I got closer to the edge of the stage as I crawled toward the VIP table situated there. That’s where the businessmen that were in town for the weekend and weren’t on the wifey’s leash usually sat. They always tipped big and wrote it off as a business expense to hide it from their wives and girlfriends.

When I rose to my knees and slowly unbuttoned the tight white top, the big guy sitting in the center watched me. I’d seen him there before. Pasty-white, pockmarked skin topped by thinning brown hair could have been any number of men, but the birthmark on his jaw was rather unique. He steadily watched my every move while I danced in front of their table. The thick-lipped smile he gave me was creepy as fuck, but I wouldn’t be doing any private dances, so I wrote him off. By the time I was down to my thong and pasties, I’d essentially forgotten about him.

I wrapped up the song and exited the stage. Edgar would gather up my costume and tips and disperse the money evenly amongst the other girls. I didn’t need it. Solomon handed me my robe and took Willow’s. Tonight, he was assigned backstage to be prepared to go out there if anyone tried to get up on stage with the girls. Edgar was on the floor to cover that angle. One of the RBMC members or prospects worked the floor along with Edgar—or Roger on the weekends. They rotated positions nightly. Because of them, we rarely had problems at Royal Heaven and for that I was always thankful.

“Thanks Solomon,” I said with a breathless smile as I stepped from backstage into the back hall. Because I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there, I slammed into a broad chest and almost gagged on the heavy cologne.

“Sorry,” I wheezed and moved to go around him, but he caught my arms in a bruising grip and grinned. Startled, I looked up and saw it was the creepy guy from the table.

“Mr. Horacio would like a word with you,” he informed me in an oily-smooth tone.

I glanced over my shoulder to call for Solomon, but the door had closed behind me. An uneasy feeling washed over me when I tried to break his hold, but he was unmovable.

Trying another tactic, I smiled. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know a Mr. Horacio. Also, this is an employees only hall so you shouldn’t be back here, and I don’t do private dances. If he speaks to Frankie or Scott at the bar, they can see who else is available.”

Obviously, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Because he leaned his face until his nose practically touched mine.

“I don’t think you hear real well. Let me repeat myself this one time. Mr. Horacio wants to see you. Now.” He let go of one arm so I could walk beside him. To get to the private rooms, you had to go to the end of the hall nearest the bar then enter a side door where I’d be visible. You also had to have a card key to get in there, and you only got one of those if you had paid a hefty sum—in advance. Some of the girls made extra money doing whatever they were willing to do in there, with a cut going to Royal Heaven. At one time that was me, so I understood. That was a long time ago, though.

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but—” he spun faster than I would’ve ever guessed someone his size could move. He had me against the wall by my neck. Using my nails, I clawed at his meaty fingers, but they didn’t budge. Darting my gaze around looking for the camera angles, I realized we were likely in the one dead zone we had—the one that Facet was supposed to fix next week.

Just fucking great.

“When we enter that hall, you smile for the cameras. If I think for one second you’re trying to be slick, I’ll snap your fucking neck. Got it?”

Wide-eyed in fear and unable to breathe, I nodded.

“Good,” he crooned as he patted my cheek twice. “Let’s go.”

He pulled a card out of his pocket and scanned the reader. The mechanical clicks signaled that the locks had been disengaged. Shit.

As we passed the first camera, I stared at it as long as I dared, hoping either Scott or Frankie would see me.

We reached the fourth room and Meathead pushed me inside, then stood with his arms crossed. A darkly beautiful man sat on the couch with his arms spread over the back. As pretty as he was to look at, his eyes seemed dead.

“Mr. Walters, you may leave,” the man instructed. Mr. Meathead-Walters didn’t like that very much. When he started to protest, the man I assumed was this Mr. Horacio, shot him a narrow-eyed glare and Meathead instantly became contrite. With a reluctant nod, he stepped out into the hall and closed the door. “I apologize for my associate’s crude treatment. That’s unacceptable and I can assure you he will be dealt with.”

“Okay, but what makes you any better? I don’t give private performances—of any kind. Yet here I am. Against my will.”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” He gave me a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his cold gaze. He motioned to the small riser before him. “My name is George Horacio. If you’ll have a seat, I have a business proposition for you.”

“Look, I already told you—”

---